


Yellow Ribbon

by Jusmine



Category: Alex Rider - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jusmine/pseuds/Jusmine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex is away, and Jack's losing it a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Ribbon

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Warning: this is very messy, kind of all over the place with atmosphere and emotion. And I didn't edit to make it blend together better, because I wanted to leave it how I wrote it.
> 
> Why? Because, I was sort of going through an emotional rollercoaster while I was writing this. My sister and my future brother-in-law (not marrying aforementioned sister - the other one. Lol.) were deployed to Iraq on Monday, August 3, 2009.
> 
> For those of you who may not know, it's an American tradition (albeit not a very common one these days) to put up a yellow ribbon if a family member or loved one is at war. 

_He's never coming home_.

She caught herself thinking that once, and even that was too much. What did she have without hope? Nothing but tears and Kleenexes.

With hope, she did have something at least to cling to. Alex was coming home, she hoped, she _knew_.

It was simply a matter of waiting long enough. And what better way to pass the time than calling home to her family?

"Jackie!" her younger sister squealed into the phone. "It's so good to hear from you!"Jack had to smile at that even in her present state of worry and stress. "You, too, Jill," she replied softly.

Too softly, and even over an ocean, her sister realized that something was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong!" Jack protested when she was questioned. This was her fucked up life, and she wasn't going to get her family mixed up in it, too. It was all her fault for taking the job Ian offered. She hadn't even needed the money very badly. Ian had just been too gorgeous to resist.

"I don't believe you," Jill was saying when Jack pulled herself out of the memories.

She seemed to be waiting for a reply, but Jack didn't give one. Any argument, and Jill would be sure she was right. Same for the silence, but at least that way she didn't stand a risk of accidentally blurting it all out.

Jill wouldn't guess that Jack's ward was a spy who was currently either saving the world or _dead_.

No, that was too far-fetched, even for an American. Knowing Jill, she would probably assume it was a break up.

"Oh, you poor thing! Well, he was terrible to leave you like that!"

Jack knew that her sister was talking about a nonexistent ex-boyfriend, but she could still hope that Jill was psychic and could be a shoulder to cry on about what really mattered.

"I don't want to talk about it," Jack cut Jill off mid-sympathetic ramble, proud when her voice cracked only a little.

There was a brief silence, and the hint of a sigh. Then Jill was off again. "Do you remember your first boyfriend?"

"Of course. I don't remember his name, though," Jack laughed.

"Randy. Randy Jones," came the reply, and Jack couldn't hold back the snort of laughter.

"What?" Jill asked, clueless. "What's so funny?"

"I'm just appreciating how aptly named he is," Jack gasped out, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

"What are you _talking_ about?" Jill demanded, impatient now.

"It's a British thing," Jack replied when she recovered a little. "Randy means horny over here."

They didn't stop laughing for at least five minutes. Then Jill finally stopped, and Jack could picture her taking off her glasses to dry her eyes.

"Stop," Jill said, and Jack tried to at least muffle her laughter. "We shouldn't laugh at the dead," Jill continued, and the laughter curled up and died in Jack's throat.

"Randy's dead?" Jack swallowed harshly. The name had been funny only moments before, but now she couldn't imagine how.

"Yeah. He was in the National Guard and his unit was deployed to Afghanistan. He never came back."

 _He never came back_.

It resonated in Jack's mind. Just like before, just phrased a little differently.

But that was Randy, not Alex. Randy had been clumsy (Jack couldn't even imagine him in the Guard), while Alex was amazing at what he did.

"Jack? Jack!" The phone crackled anxiously at her.

"I - I have to go," Jack breathed out. She barely remembered to click the end button before she dropped the phone.

It was a good thing that she was sitting, or she might have fallen and cracked like the phone had. She certainly felt fragile enough.

She spent the night on the couch, not having enough strength to even grab a blanket off the back of the armchair just across the room. She wasn't cold, anyway. The blanket wouldn't have stopped the shivering.

She spent the night listening to the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Somehow, by morning, each soft _tick-tock_ was a booming gun shooting Alex again.

At dawn, she couldn't handle it anymore. She began pacing around and around the room. Maybe the movement would help to banish the nightmares running through her head.

It didn't work. _Nothing_ worked, and by nine o'clock, she was desperate for _anything_ to distract herself with.

It wasn't normally this bad. Normally, she could at least do other things while going out of her mind with worry. Now, she couldn't cook (and even if she could, she probably couldn't eat it, anyway) she couldn't clean, she probably couldn't even read.

She grabbed her purse on the way out of the door, not even bothering to change clothes or put her tangled hair up in a ponytail.

She walked straight by her car. Walking might offer more distractions. Besides, she didn't even know where the hell she was going. Best not to cause any crashes.

It was a beautiful day. Sunshine and blue skies weren't very common here, compared to back home. England weather was perfect for funerals.

"Fuck," she muttered. That thought might have been funny before, but not when Alex had almost died so many times. Not when Alex could be dead right now.

She started running. She couldn't outrun her thoughts, but she could certainly give it a damn good try.

So she ran, faster than she'd run since she'd been on the track team in high school.

She avoided a kid on a bike only to nearly collide with a young woman with a jogging stroller.

She thought she muttered an apology, but maybe not, judging by the glare she received.

She didn't have any idea how, but she ended up miles from home, finally stopping for air in front of a small café.

Well, she'd needed a distraction. What better than trying to find a flavor of tea that was actually palatable?

She opened the door, and almost flinched at the light tinkle of the bells tied to the top of the door.

She sat down at a little table in the corner of the crowded café. When a waitress came around, she asked for coffee.

Jack hated coffee, but she loved it at the same time. Not because of its taste, but because of the good memories that she associated with the smell of it. Three and a half pounds was a small enough price to pay to regain her sanity.

When her coffee arrived, she stirred it, holding her face near to the cup.

The smell of it seemed almost to give her a photographic memory. She could remember things about her family so much clearer when she could smell coffee.

She remembered many Christmas mornings, with all the love and excitement of her family surrounding her and holding her tight.

And then came what was probably the happiest memory that anyone in her family held: Her father returning home from the hospital, after acquiring a near-fatal wound in combat.

They had all been so happy when he returned. Just after he'd been deployed, they'd made it through only by sticking together and helping each other, and by the cheery splash of yellow in the front yard. The yellow ribbon tied around the oak tree was a constant reminder that Dad would be home soon.

And even through the agony of waiting to hear the results of the surgery, the yellow ribbon was always bright in Jack's mind, giving a little comfort.

Jack stood up and left the money on the small table. She went out the door, under the tinkling bells and smiling slightly, because she had a cup of coffee and memories that could help her through, now.

A trip to the grocery was required, she decided. It had been far too long since she'd walked into a house that smelled of coffee.

There was a small store just down the road. Surely any decent store would have coffee, she figured.

Sure enough, there was a whole freakin' section of coffee. She examined all the different varieties and flavors. Who seriously drank all these kinds of coffee?

Finally, after far too long of just staring at the coffee, she grabbed a can of just plain coffee. Happy with her choice, she walked up to the cash register. On her way, though, something caught her eye.

There was a package of yellow ribbon in the party decorations section. She grabbed it without hesitation, and continued on her way to the counter to pay.

Walking back out into the street, she realized that she had no idea where she was, and she couldn't remember where she had turned during her impromptu run. She wandered around for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to return home.

Finally, she spotted a shop that she recognized. She returned home tired, but much more content than before. She still wasn't happy, exactly, but she could stand to trust in Alex's abilities, and trust that he would return home. Hopefully soon.

In the meantime, she had something that she needed to do. She hurried into the kitchen and dug out the coffee pot that hadn't been used since Ian was alive. It was dusty, but in perfect condition.

She brushed it off and plugged it in. A few minutes later, the water and coffee powder was in place, and the machine was bubbling merrily.

Next, she went over to one of the drawers and pulled out a dark green pair of scissors. She strode out through the hall and out onto the front porch, scissors in one hand, ribbon in the other.

The supporting pole on the porch, next to the steps, would be perfect, she decided.

She carefully unrolled a generous amount of bright yellow ribbon. It was maybe a little too thin for her purposes, but it would work well enough.

She circled the ribbon around the post, and her fingers danced around each other to create the perfect bow.

The next morning, she ventured out of the house again. The fridge was looking entirely too bare. When Alex came home, he would need food, and lots of it. He always came home looking half (or more) starved.

Today she took the car, and managed to drive to the store and park safely, smiling slightly at the yellow on the traffic lights.

Jack shopped how she cooked: quickly and efficiently. No need in dragging the monotonous chore out.

There was no way to be efficient waiting to pay, though. No matter what, the line on the other side always seemed to move faster.

She passed the time by looking at all the last-minute buy selection in the line. The gum and candy, and the ever present celebrity magazines that Jack could care less about.

Eventually, she couldn't find anything to read or look at, and she turned her attention to the people around her.

There were two middle-aged men engaged in a conversation in front of her in the line. Jack wasn't a very nosy person, but she was incredibly bored, and she had nothing else to do. So, of course, she listened in.

"Did you hear about Jonathan Matthews' boy?" one of the men, was saying. He was tall and balding with serious, brown eyes.

"No," the other, shorter, man replied. "What happened?"

"His unit was attacked in Afghanistan," the taller man replied solemnly. "He died last week."

"That's bloody awful!" the other man exclaimed. "He was a good kid."

There was a horrible sinking feeling in Jack's stomach. Her vision was starting to blacken a little at the edges, and she couldn't concentrate. Her breathing was harsh and shallow, too quick to track.

 _He was a good kid._

Her throat was tight, and she had to get out of there.

She left her cart full of food and shoved her way back out through the line, ignoring the indignant shouts of the other shoppers.

Her took her a while to find her car in the small parking lot. She jammed the key into the ignition before she even closed the door, and she was fairly certain that she left rubber in the parking lot, trying to outrun the words circling around and around her head.

She didn't know how she made it home. By the time she pulled into the driveway, it was almost impossible to see around the tears that were flooding her eyes and face. She almost crashed into the garage door, and she shut the car off with shaking hands.

She leaned her head against the steering wheel, and fought for control. She felt like she was drowning, in her tears and in the overwhelming thought that Alex wouldn't return home.

It didn't work, because nothing besides Alex's face ever helped in this situation. She was slipping away, and she couldn't do anything about it, couldn't grab hold of anything to anchor in reality.

Or maybe she could, she realized, and she raised her head quickly, dashing away tears so that she could see the porch. The yellow ribbon rippled and shook in the slight breeze, but it still somehow looked steady, strong.

Slowly, very slowly, Jack felt herself coming back. The ribbon wasn't Alex, but it was a promise of his return. He _is_ a good kid - no _was_ about it.

She sat up tight in her car, and opened the door.

Inside the house, she grabbed the remaining ribbon and tied it around her wrist.

Then she went to another grocery, and survived.

That night, she was sitting at the table, trying to eat the food she had prepared for dinner. She had made more than she would eat, and though it hadn't been intentional, she knew that it was for Alex. Just in case he came home for dinner.

The phone rang, cutting through the silence like Indiana Jones' whip.

She automatically started panicking, but then she froze and berated herself. It could be a completely normal call, a telemarketer or something. Or a wrong number. Or maybe even Alex calling!

She stood up and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Jack Starbright?" The voice was clear, and nearly monotone, and even as Jack realized who it must be, she spared a moment to wonder why they'd never been told not to answer a question with another question.

"Yes." Short and succinct was probably all she could handle until she knew why they were calling.

"Alex Rider is missing - presumed dead."

She dropped the phone, and this time, she wasn't sitting.

 _He's never coming home_.


End file.
